


Fucking-a looneybin

by Beetlemucus



Category: IT (2017), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Crazy Henry Bowers, Dead Patrick Hockstetter, Henry Bowers Being an Asshole, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, Its not really M/M but whatever, Just a warning Henry is a little racist but that’s not out of character, M/M, Patrick Hockstetter is His Own Warning, idk what else to tag this, just guys being dudes, this is a mix of the book and the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 02:56:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21237005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beetlemucus/pseuds/Beetlemucus
Summary: Patrick’s and Henry’s relationship is nonetheless the same when one is a decaying corpse, right? Right.Basically just the junkyard scene in the book but... It plays out like the Dead Hockstetter scene in IT 2





	Fucking-a looneybin

**Author's Note:**

> Started hating this 1/4 way through so uh this is mostly a scrap but I hope you like it anyways!!  
Also ending is rushed because it’s uhh 2:05 AM and me sleepy oops

The dull noise of white noise from the flickering hospital lights had always given Henry Bowers nothing short of a headache. Despite him not knowing how to properly count on his stubs of fingers anymore from how many pills they pop into his body, he can almost time the day when the lightbulb would flicker out and they’d have to get a few guards to replace the measley thing. //How many guards does it take to fix a lightbulb?// is all Henry would think to himself as they stumble onto the step ladder. Despite white noise being one of the only things being filtered through the air (other than the same episode of Tom and Jerry on the commons room’s only television), Henry Bowers almost couldn’t hear himself think most of the time in the hospital. He almost scowled whenever he thought of it referred to as a hospital, because to him the term hospital sounded //too// nice of a title. //A hospital is where they keep care of ya, here they feed you pills and filth and force ya to shut yer trap is what they do. More like a living morgue than a hospital.// Henry would smile a little at the corners for even remembering what the word morgue had meant. 

That fateful day he stumbled out to the commons room with the lousy assistance of his assigned guard (Henry never bothered remembering the fat son-of-a-bitch’s name) was one he’d never forget. At the beginning, he had been in his room with medication still having to be forced into him even after 27 years. It was nothing but a placebo, probably, but Henry had been fed all the same yellow and white pills that it blurred to him at this point. Powdered, geled, or capsuled it didn’t matter. Medication was medication, and he’d sure get one hell of a whipping if he didn’t take it, forced or not. Henry didn’t even remember sitting down. He found himself stringing the same beads he had for years, and as he got his own grip on reality he forced his eyes to focus on the string he had loosely in his fingers. With a shaky hand he lifted it to his mouth to string it through his lips. The ends had split, so he had to find out his own way of mending the string together so he could force another bead down on it. He had lost count of how many stupid bracelets he had made solely that year alone. They weren’t good bracelets, but the guards had figured if Henry Bowers would be kept preoccupied by doing nothing but beading or gardening with peas outside then he would be doing just that. 

The flash of red outside the window was a stark contrast on the cold colored morning, and Henry’s eyes immediately had shifted towards it. It was a balloon, as red as a clown’s nose. Despite the breeze that lightly shifted the tree’s branches outside (it had been getting colder and nearly all of the leaves had fallen off), the balloon stayed perfectly still in one place. It almost stared down at Henry as it drew closer to the window. It wasn’t long before Henry heard the voices of Vic and Belch ring in his ears almost like when he stared up at the moon through his room window.  
//They’re back, Bowers. We have some unfinished work we need to do, Wouldn’t yaagree?// Vic asked with some sort of sick malice. Henry didn’t even notice the beads slipping from his fingers and onto the ground, making a few loud bounces as they trailed off further into the center of the commons room. With his eyes fixated on the balloon Henry turned his body to where he was practically fully facing the window.  
//Give em one-for! Aye, batter batter!// Belch drawled out in a laugh, and this made Henry point to himself with the smallest tilt of his head. He felt his lips twitch upward into a small smile, and a disbelieving puff of air forced its way out of his mouth. This puff of air lead into laughter that he almost couldn’t control. The voices of his dead friends bounced around in his head much like they did during the night, and they almost seemed ten times worse. This caught the attention of the guards; they didn’t make any move to stop Bowers yet for this could have been a simple, small fit. Some patients had those, since they couldn’t determine what was in their head or actually two feet in front of their faces. Their steady eyes caught Henry as the mental patient stood up from his chair to only laugh louder. He pointed at the window, and Henry only hoped to God that someone would know that he- no, IT- was back. //They have to see it, the balloon! It’s come back for me!// was what Henry was trying to tell them with nothing but the language of laughter as his deteriorated mind took control of his actions. Nothing mattered to the used-to-be farm boy in that moment as he jumped up on the windowsill to grip at the frames.

Patient after patient started to yell out due to Bowers’ sudden outburts. Some clapped, some shouted, some covered their ears because it was all too fast or loud. In a place where everyone is so different they are all so the same; any little thing from one patient would be a chain reaction and set off the rest. Just like that, the entire window was crowded by patients knocking their palms or knuckles against it. They were nothing except zombies who followed the herd and were trying to get out of their dreaded prison. None of them knew how to lead normal, successful lives, and they’d all sell themselves sort of if they deserved it or not, but they almost all knew what they wanted in that moment if they had realized it or not. 

“Bowers!” A guard shouted as they made their way through the crowd. Henry scrapped his dull nails against the glass as his ears rang. He was too damn focused on doing nothing but going to the balloon, even if that meant he’d plummet two stories to his inevitable death. Before he could comprehend what was going on, two hands slithered under his armpits. He was hoisted up like a little kid, and this made him sputter out a giggle as his leg kicked out to knock over the beads. As he was dragged back to his room all that could be heard was the thundering drumming of beads bouncing on the tile floors and the other patients and guards shouting. When Henry was showing little signs of resitance, his assigned guard decided that Henry’s water-weight was a little too difficult to handle (Henry had gained quite a bit of weight in his 27 years, as he has barely excersised the empty calories of what couldn’t even be called food that the cafeteria serves) so he set him down on his feet. Hands clamped on Henry’s shoulders as the man was dragged down the empty hallway to his room, and all Henry could do was giggle and wave as he watched the balloon follow him from other patient’s windows.

“Stay in yer fucking room.” His guard told him bluntly as he forced him in and shut the door behind him. No one wanted to deal with Henry for longer than what they had to.  
Henry giggled as he stumbled in, his eyes looking up expectantly to the window for the bright flash of red. His face dropped a little once the balloon wasn’t found, and his chest had almost ached at the realization. //Does It not need me? Henry Bowers, the one who needs to kill em all?// Anger wasn’t even settling in his chest like how it usually would. Henry would usually scream and kick and throw a tantrum when he didn’t get his way, and either it was the medication or genuine sadness that tugged at his heartstrings. 

The rubbing of rubber made his attention snap to his bed, and it had almost even startled him. When Henry Bowers is categorized as dumb they aren’t lying, because the thought of the balloon was out of his mind in that moment as he walked over to his bed. He knew the source of the sound was under his bed, but he had little to no clue what the noise could’ve been.  
His hand shakily reached out to grip his blanket which was crudely draped over the side and foot of his bed. No one had bothered to fix it, but that wasn’t much of a surprise to anyone. It’s not like Henry cared about that, anyways.  
With a quick tug the blanket was off, and Henry jumped back once the red balloon was revealed to be squished under his bed. It was caught in between the bottom of the foot of the bed and the tile floor.  
//Well, Well... How’d you get there?// Henry asked mentally with a confused giggle. He dropped to his hands and knees, and the cold on the floor almost made him shiver as he stared at it. In that moment, it was nothing but him and the balloon having a staring contest. What he was supposed to do at this point was something he didn’t have an answer to, so for a few moments he did nothing but stare curiously at the helium embodiment of the clown. Sure, Henry Bowers himself didn’t know it was exactly a clown he was trusting, but he knew the balloon was Its sign (whatever It was).  
He finally decided to reach forward to grab the knot of the balloon, and he attempted to pull it out from under the bed. It stretched and squeaked, but it didn’t budge. Head tilting to the side and more pulling ensued from Henry. He shook his arm a little up and down to try and wedge the balloon free without actually having to grab it. 

The balloon popped suddenly, and Henry jumped back a little at the noise. That sure brought some noise into the otherwise silent room, along with the growls of something under his bed. He peered under, and there was nothing short of a corpse laying under there with its face tilted up at Henry. It had a long trail of saliva dripping from its lips in an expression Henry could only identify as hunger. Without warning, the corpse shot out from under the bed and sporadically crawled towards Bowers, who- in turn- yelled and backed up as fast as he could to the wall. Henry wanted to scream as the corpse’s nails scratched at the floor, and it’s body convulsed as it desperately tried reaching Henry. Almost as quick as a light switch being flicked on it stopped to just stare up at Henry. It’s body was pressed against the floor and it was being held up by its arms. Henry didn’t even notice he was breathing heavily as his eyes fixated on the dead figure which was almost all too familiar to him. Eyes following movement like a predator to prey, Henry watched as the corpse’s arm slowly reached behind itself to grab something out of its pocket. The corpse was making these guttural noises as it slowly showed Henry what it had in its possession. It left Henry feeling nothing but confused at what the object was, since it was a clean, silver rectangle.  
Almost as if the corpse could sense Henry’s confusion, it thumbed up the rectangle and out flicked a blade. At that, almost all confusion had left Henry’s mind in that moment. He knew what all of this was about.

The corpse’s mouth twitched into the best grin it could, more gutters noises spilling from the “corpse” as it did nothing but stare at Henry. Half of its face was rotting and being eaten away by maggots. Spots of decaying holes around his face was chipped away similar to that of old paint. There was no way this boy was anything less than dead, with one of his eyes gouged out and one looking fully unseeing it was hard to not come to that conclusion, but there Henry was staring at the body who had crawled out from under his bed. Something about the splitting grin was too familiar to Bowers, and when he realized who it was it hit him like a train. “Hockstetter...” Henry murmured breathlessly as the grin almost sent a flashback to pound in his skull. Patrick Hockstetter was a boy with nothing but problems. He was a tall and gangly kid with a pleasure for the most sick and twisted things on the block. If you bet him nothing more than a dollar to scrape up some roadkill on the side of the road and eat out the liver Henry would bet that Patrick would do just that without blinking. Hockstetter was simply a fucked up kid who went missing that summer 27 years ago, and now Henry was face-to-face with the remains of his friend. Though, Henry did not consider him a friend in any sense of the word. The same day that Patrick went missing is one that Henry would always think of whenever he showered, and although he almost was able to completely scrub Patrick from his memory he wasn’t able to scrub off the feeling of Patrick’s hand on him. Henry, ever since that summer day, felt like the biggest faggot there was and he hated it. He almost wished he was the one who had killed Patrick himself. 

Patrick twirled the knife in his hand to where the handle pointed at Henry, and in the mix of his waterlogged noises he made something similar to a growling purr. It disgusted Henry to no end, and he slowly took the knife from Patrick as if he was afraid the boy would bite him if he got too close. As he tore his gaze from the corpse he stared at the blade with intense recognition, and he slowly gripped it until his knuckles had turned white.  
“My knife....” was all he was able to whisper.

—

The next few hours was nothing but a blur to Henry. He only awoke from his dream-like state when he was seated in the Trans Am in the passenger seat next to Hockstetter who was driving way over the speed limit. He stared at the blade in his hand- which was coated with nothing but blood he doesn’t remember shedding- as he slowly leaned back in his seat a little bit more. 

“Why’d you haveta’ be the one to come fetch me?” Henry asked, and anger was slowly settling in his chest. Hockstetter’s head slightly cocked his head over to briefly look at Henry before he looked back out to the road. When Henry wasn’t given an answer he just grew more angry at the boy.  
“Are ya gonna fuckin’ answer me or not, shitface?” He spat at him, turning his attention fully to Patrick. There was a grumble from the corpse as his hands on the steering wheel jerked right. This resulted in Henry knocking his shoulder into the door with a shouting “Watch it!” The car shrieked as they halted at the side of the road.  
Patrick’s head rolled over to stare at Henry- quite literally- dead in the eye. Henry was still a little uncomfortable at the squirming Of maggots that was still entering through his friend’s wounds and orifices.  
“Well?”Henry scowled, trying to keep up his brash upfront as the corpse just kept staring at him. 

“It... Don’t mean.. much...” Patrick gutted out, and what followed after almost each word was a wave of watered down, black sludge erupting from his mouth to roll down his chin. Henry’s nose scrunched up in disgust as he watched this all unfold, but he was more a man of curiousity than care for a dirty car.  
“What the hell are you going on about? And what the fuck is that?” Bowers grumbled.  
“Don’t.... Needa... Kill em’,... Bowers...” Hockstetter kept up the small heaving vomits of Black sludge.  
“Keep talkin’ like that and you’re gonna get your ass kicked. You and I both know that I NEED to do this shit!” Henry shouted at him, and he looked down at his own lap and started to wipe the blood from his blade onto his pants, “And why don’t you take that shit your pukin’ and smear it on your face? You’d look prettier, for a fucking-a tar baby.”  
Patrick let out a giggle at that. The noise was horrible because it was almost too alive for Patrick to make in the state that he was currently in. Henry’s gaze quickly fixated on Patrick at that, but the state of the boy hadn’t changed from anything more than a corpse who should’ve been burnt. Not even buried.

“We could... take... our time...” Patrick sputtered our more, but the black sludge was thinning out and was replaced with more of a creamy, red substance. Blood and puss, it seemed. Patrick’s dead body seemed bloated with nothing but the stuff.  
“We could... Feel good...” Henry knew what Patrick was implying in that moment, and his face screwed up in nothing but complete anger.  
You better fuckin’ drive or I swear to God...” Was all Henry could muster as he stared at the corpse. Patrick had such a calm expression on his stiff features, and it made Henry want to puke up whatever was dribbling down Patrick’s chin.  
“Or what?...” Patrick asked curiously as his body slumped over and his jaw clicked open to let a wave of blood, puss, and maggots slightly spill over closer to Henry.  
“You’ll.... kill me?” He laughed a little as his body started convulsing. Henry’s eyes widened and he pressed himself against the inside of the car door. He stared at Patrick with the same horror when they were in Henry’s room back at Juniper Hills. Similar to how the situation went, as quick as Patrick started to convulse he stopped and stared at Henry as more liquid dripped down from his lips. Henry’s breath quickened as Patrick’s lip smacked over his teeth like an animal.

“Rena... Make ‘Er specialty.... again?..” Patrick asked with curiosity, but more hacking and coughing ensued each time he spoke. Henry’s blood ran a little cold at the mentioning of Rena (Rena Davenport was Butch’s girlfriend when Henry’s mom left, and how Henry loathed Rena. She made nothing but baked beans every weekend, and he had grown to hate the mush).  
“Repeat... The day?...” Hockstetter offered as his hand slowly reached over and rested on Henry’s thigh. It was almost as if Henry was frozen to his seat because he had made no move to shoo him off or shift away from his touch. Bowers was getting overwhelmed by it all. 

“I know... You want it.... You liked it-” Patrick started as his hand made his way up Henry’s thigh, but as if a jumper cable sparked in Henry’s brain he reacted. He lifted his foot and he harshly shoved the bottom of his boot into Patrick’s face to knock him back into his side of the car door. Patrick’s jaw cracked and clicked, but Henry didn’t waste time to stare at the boy as he turned and fumbled with the door handle. All he knew is that he wanted- no, needed- out and that is what he was going to get. Before Patrick could attempt to lock the doors Henry was our and sliding his way out of the car onto the sidewalk. Hockstetter made no move to go out after Henry as he scrambled up to his feet. 

“I’m going to kill you too, you son of a bitch! Don’t you DARE fuckin’ even look at me, you- you- homo faggot!” Bowers spat and sputtered angrily as he backed up with his knife still in hand.  
“Don’t go too...too far, Hens... They’ll lock ya’ back up in the fuckin-a looneybin...” Patrick let his lips slowly twitch back into his girly grin as Henry just kept backing up away from the vehicle. He didn’t show it, but he knew Patrick was right. They would just lock him up if they found him again, and Patrick had a small inkling that he knew he was right about Bowers. He was as easy to read as an open book. He let the escaped convict slip away out of eyesight as he leaned back, reaching over to turn the car off. 

Henry will be back for him, and Patrick knew it too well.


End file.
